It suddenly became so inorganic; lifeless. The way you crossed the river without struggling through the current made you seem so out of touch. I watched you deviate from the singularity of your commitments, and it ended so vaguely, that no one knows if it ever had a resolution. But I only tell you the way I witnessed it.

Many years passed before I could understand what you said. The hours collapsed as I feared they would. I theorized about your permanence in my thoughts, but I already knew you were out of my life, I just hadn’t come to accept the terms of this argument. I believed in lies when I spoke through them. Needless to say, I knew about this charade. So what happens next?

What happens is your breathing. Slowly inhaling your arrest. Your virtue is not the art of deceiving, but your ability to sing in the key of misanthropy.

It shouldn’t be like this. The more you try to grasp the laws that you’ve been studying for the last five years, the more reality slips away from your fingers. No, you don’t look as young as you used to, and no, you’re not as beautiful as you once were. A look in the mirror will only tell you what you already know – your past was the better thing that has come out of you, but it’s not who you are anymore. And still, you were never those hands who healed humanity, you were not the symphonies that everyone would always recall.

Do you even remember all those things you’ve broken? As you approach you fantasies, you travel guilt-free, blessedly forgetful of the hearts you tore apart while you stayed in this existence. But that was once your tragedy, and you should have remembered by now, all those hands you refused are a shared part of your everything, and not of your solipsistic mind.

Fathers shouldn’t bury their own children. A million deaths fall on the transience of collective memory – only to be flooded by the mass delusion of sadistic overpowering. It will one day mean something, but it will burn into your skin, forcing you to look back and regret how you neglected to connect with the spirits surrounding you.

I’ve walked through the darkness of your eyes, and I’ve always returned safe and sound. I’ve drifted through the landscapes of your empty streets, at the darkest hour, and I’m still standing. But I’m not brave, neither I’m anxious. I just reckon one shouldn’t be afraid of free will.